The Last Message
by snowtigress-27
Summary: On the day of her wedding, Coralie is flooded with memories of a man she's known her entire life, but has no conscious memory of, a Silent she met as a child. A love story told in trail of isolated memories leading up to the last message.
1. Chapter 1

**The Last Message**

**Chapter One:**

_I suppose I've always known him. He's been in my life since I was a child. But in the same breath, I've never remembered him until this moment. But that's the way it goes between us. Just a series of moments. A few hours of clarity in between the years of real life. _

_ I look to the image in the mirror. A beautiful, confident women dressed in white. She thinks she's happy, she doesn't remember the life she's missing. But I can see on her arm, written in blood, a reminder of that forgotten life. I look, and I look, and I remember._

* * *

I was seven years old the first time I saw him. I know, because I wouldn't watch the moon landing until I was eight. I lived on great deal of land, at least half an hour from town, with lots of space to run and get in trouble.

On that day, I played by the creek bed, squelching in the mud and looking for little fish in the murky water. Mother wasn't far off, so I knew better than to leave the shallow section between the willow and boulder mound.

The water was chilly, but the day was warm. Probably the last nice day before summer would die and wake with autumn in its place. I saw him maybe a dozen times that day, his body limp beneath the willow. Something always turned my head and I forgot as easily as the leaves fell from overhead. I didn't understand then. How could I know there was magic to make me forget something I had only just seen?

I had just decided to return to Mother's side when a most peculiar sound caught my attention, low and full of pain. I clambered from to water, peeking around the willow tree. I remembered then, as I saw his body yet again, that he had been there all along. I approached, realizing the pitiful sound was coming from him, even though I couldn't see a mouth. Perhaps he looked grotesque; I think most people find him to be so. But to a child, he was little more than a curiosity. I reached a small hand to touch his face, the skin stretched so tightly across his bones. He flinched at my touch, those sunken eyes waking up. He started to growl, but it turned into yet another twisted cry. Two sets of eyes flew to the blood soaked shirt and tattered black jacket.

At my age, the most blood I'd ever seen came from the last tooth I had pulled. I didn't know blood could fill a white canvas so completely or smell so acrid with age and exposure. My hand instinctively went to the injury sight, but it was caught up in his before I could make contact.

His hand was fat and unshapely as it wrapped around mine, but I didn't pull away. I studied the four fingers, stretching my own free hand to its full spread. I looked back and forth between the two, widely different hands and giggled aloud.

His eyes sought my face and I wondered inwardly how much laughter this strange man had ever heard in his life.

"How do you count?" I asked, awestruck. Why, with only four fingers on a hand, he could only count to… I paused, using my own fingers as a quick reference. Eight! He could only count to eight!

He watched my counting fingers with peculiar intensity and released a rumbling sort of sound I took as his own sort of laughter. I imagined his skin pulling into a smile, but I don't think he could have done it even if he wanted to. Forget about counting, how did he eat without a mouth?

I promptly asked him and was met with yet more rumbling laughter. For a moment, I thought he might speak and answer my question, but it was overrun by more pain noises. I began to really worry after my new friend.

"Where does it hurt? Here?" I pointed to the largest tear in his shirt, still leaking blood.

He nodded, and pointed to several other injury points I hadn't yet noticed. Some were small round holes spattered across his body, but one was another gash like the first. I studied them carefully, trying to decide what to do. Whenever I came home with cuts and scrapes, which was often, Mother patched me up with antiseptic and Band-Aids and a kiss better. I immediately resolved to do the same for him.

"Stay here," I said. "I'll find you a Band-Aid and then you'll get better real fast. You'll see."

I stood, but his misshapen hand caught mine once more.

"Don't go." His voice was throaty and guttural as his laugh had led me to believe it might be, but it didn't frighten me. I was actually pleased he had spoken at all. I was afraid he didn't know how. "You'll just forget."

"I won't. I promise."

And with that, I bounded away. All memory of him vanished. I stopped in my tracks, confused. I had been going to get something…. I had…. No. I was going to find Mother. That was it.

"Turn around."

I shrieked at the sound, but when I turned my memory came rushing back. There my friend lay, tired and hurt just as before. How had I forgotten?

"I'm sorry. I won't forget again."

I turned. But the same process happened again. I forgot, his voice called me back, and I instantly remembered. I tried two or three more times until tears of frustration pricked at my eyes. Things in school were never this hard to remember. 2 and 3 made five. Yellow and red made orange. But every moment I wasn't looking, it was like he had never existed.

"Don't cry, little one. I won't call you back this time." His voice grew more labored with each raspy breath and his eyes looked heavy with exhaustion.

"But then I'll just forget again."

"That's all right."

"No, someone has to bring you Band-Aids and medicine and kiss you better!"

He laughed again; it was getting easier and easier to imagine a smile on his face.

"Thank you, but I won't be getting better anytime soon. Even with a kiss and a Band-Aid."

"Then, I'll take you to the doctor. Please, you'll get better. I promise. The doctors are good at fixing things."

"No, no, my little friend. I'll be just fine here."

"Then help me remember," she pled, with wide innocent eyes. He shook his head and ruffled her hair.

"You're a stubborn one. What's your name?"

"Coralie."

"Well, Coralie. You need to run home and forget this ever happened, will you do that for me?"

I began to cry with greater energy and I felt my little girl heart breaking in my chest.

"But I don't want to." The tears mixed with snot and I was positively convinced I would drown in the mess. I wiped at them, but it was useless, really.

He sighed, whether from pain or exasperation I wasn't sure.

"All right, you want to remember me?"

I nodded vigorously.

"There's a bed of flowers across the creek from here, you know the ones?" I nodded again and he continued. "Good. I want you to run to them as fast as you can, pick three, count to five and then go home. When you put the flowers in a vase you'll remember me."

"Really?"

I wasn't old enough to understand he nodded only to keep himself from telling me the truth.

"Now, go on. Be quick about. And don't forget the vase."

I smiled a last goodbye and started for the flowers. Of course, I forgot again. Even when I stopped to pick the flowers for no reason at all, I couldn't remember. And this time there was no voice to remind me. I returned home, placed the flowers in the vase, ate dinner with my family, and did all the things I usually did. But as I got into the bathtub that night, there was a blood stain on my knee that I hadn't noticed before.

The memory of my friend hit me like a rush of cold air. I gasped aloud, deciding then and there I needed to return to the creek right away. But the soapy water was doing its job too well; in a matter of seconds the blood was washed away and with it, my memories.

* * *

**A/N** So pretty much I've dropped off the fanfic radar for months as my 100 songs or Assassinations readers well know. But I've recently had a lot of time unexpectedly open up and I hope to get back into writing, both fanfic and original work. This is the first chapter in a short piece which I think will be about 6 chapters or less and be completed by the end of February. I wrote it as a favor for a dear friend who requested a love story involving a silent and a human. With any luck, you should see regular updates of this story and any of my others. Reviews and favs are much appreciated! Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**The Last Message**

**Chapter 2:**

_Suddenly nothing feels quite right. The dress is laced too tightly in the back, my hair is heavy and hot, and my ring finger aches beneath the weight of the diamond. Today is my wedding. The moment I've looked forward to my entire life. It should be the happiest moment of my life; and it was. Up until now._

_ How can I go through with this? Would it all be a lie? _

_ I continue to stare at the words, drink in their memories. I cannot let myself forget._

* * *

The first kill was the hardest. I was ten years old, playing in our yard with a couple friends from school. It stood at the end of the lane just watching us. I would never have noticed, if not for Father. He came out of the house, with his old hunting rifle in hand. He approached it, cocking the gun. Instinctively, I knew this was not my silent and should be killed on sight. But I couldn't forget the image of my friend, lying wounded and alone, plastered with gun shots and knife wounds, no doubt the work of another father like mine.

My heart ached with the remembered sadness and I swore to prevent the same fate falling to another silent. I called out to Father and he turned instantly, worried for my safety.

I could see his face fall into blankness as memory faltered and left entirely. I breathed a sigh of relief, but it was misplaced. In the moment Father was defenseless, the silent struck.

There is nothing more painful than the ear shattering grief of a child who watches the death of her father, knowing it was her fault. The never ending electricity coursed through his body, coming from that awful creature. How could I ever have thought that thing, that monster was anything like my friend?

Through half-thoughts, terrified screams, and absolute hatred, the gun ended up in my hands and the bullet ended up in the silent's chest. Over and over again, I shot until the creature collapsed, releasing my father from the current. I dropped to his side, sobbing over his body.

My father's eyes found mine just before he died, and there was a kind of proud smile in them that not even the silents' tampering could take from me. I was lucky, I guess. Most children whose parents are killed by the silents, don't even have a body left to remember them by.

When the police finally arrived, his hand was cold in mine. They ruled his death due to freak electric storm in the area. Of course no one could contest it.

* * *

By the time I was thirteen, killing silents came easily to me. After that day, hesitation was out of the question. If memory would have allowed for it, I probably would have become some sort of silence hunter, bent on revenge. As it was, when memory did allow, I killed ruthlessly, sometimes with crude weapons or traps if I could manage it. As encounters became more and more frequent, I began to see patterns. I never saw more than two and they always watched silently in the background, especially at school. They watched the other kids with a religious like search, hunting for something. They stayed out of sight, for good reason of course. But if there was one thing I was good at it was teaching myself to notice the smallest of triggers for my memory. A dark corner no one ever looked at, a smell out of place, the sound of throaty, unnatural breath.

It was December when the pack came. I don't know what else to call them, for I'd never seen anything like it.

Mother was at work and I had to wait in the car for her to finish every night before we could go home. It was late and the wind whipped anxiously across the parking lot. I huddled in blanket and several layers of clothing. Half an hour. Half an hour and then I'd be nice and warm at home.

Across the parking lot, I saw a flash of clothing and dark hair. I peered out, recognizing a girl from my school, running backwards, a pistol in her hands. Mels was a known trouble maker, but I had to admit I was surprised to see her with a gun, looking for all the world like a run-away criminal. Shots fired and I jumped in my seat. Was she out of her mind? What was she shooting at?

A minute later I saw a crackle of electricity and realized exactly what she was shooting at.

Frantic, I dug through the glove compartment for Mother's pistol. She put it in ever since she took a job in town, always worried I might get threatened while waiting late at night. Now armed, I bolted from the car.

I reached Mels side, but she glared at me even as we began firing shots.

"Are you out of your mind?" she asked.

"I've dealt with more of them than you think," I answered, leveling three shots into the approaching silent even as I spoke.

"Well you better save your ammo, there's at least… " she paused to look at her arm which was marked with thick black tallies. "Ten of them. Nine now, I guess."

As if sensing her words, the remaining nine glided from the ally way, silent and foreboding. I gasped aloud, shock filling my body with lead. I had never seen so many silents in my life. I had thought, with everyone out to kill them, they would be an endangered species by now.

"I can take two at a time," I whispered numbly.

"And I can take three, maybe four if I'm lucky."

The street lamps were already starting to flicker as the electricy drew towards the creatures. My hands shook on the gun and tears threatened my eyes. Well, if I had to die young, at least it was in pursuit of something heroic right? How sick, that those were the last thoughts of a teenage girl, that I carried a gun like most kids carried candy, that I myself had become a sort of child monster.

The crack of the pistol fired a few rounds and one silent fell. Mels was already in the game; she had probably skipped the last foray into philosophy. As the creature fell, it tripped another behind it with its awkwardly large body. I had a sudden, crazy idea. It would most certainly get me killed, but it might save Mels.

"Cover me," I said and then took off at a run.

The first silent with enough energy shot electricity at the spot I had been standing, but I was already half way towards them. Mels nailed it with a few rounds and I knew it would be out of commission. I slid feet first into tight group, knocking one or two to the ground. I rolled out of reach, firing shots into anything that moved. I counted on Mels taking the ones who had tripped. My daring act of stupidity had earned us each three dead, leaving only three still standing. Somehow, miraculously, Mels and I managed to each shoot one more. I took it upon myself to kill the last one and trained my gun on his head. Suddenly I was shot through the heart with memories of flowers and bloodstains and friendship. I stopped in my tracks, the gun falling limply from my hand.

"Impossible," I whispered.

"Coralie, Shoot him!"

Mels' voice frightened him and my silent began gathering electricity as protection. In response, she cocked her gun, pointing it directly at him.

"No! Wait!" It was no use; she had probably been killing silents since she was old enough to walk. Her finger tightened on the trigger and I found my body suddenly shielding his.

It was a strange feeling to have a bullet rip through me. First a tearing, awful pain, sharper than the first breath of cold air and longer than a minute without air. I fell to my knees clutching my shoulder, screaming aloud. I was aware of cold, unwieldy hands lifting me, supporting my head, cradling my body into his. Then, blissfully, I was aware of nothing at all. Gun shots feel surprisingly a lot like being dead, I guess.

* * *

I was in the hospital when I came to. Mother was anxiously bending over me, smoothing my hair, kissing my cheeks.

"Don't ever do that again!" She cried, wrapping me in a hug. "You had me so worried!"

"What happened?"

"It was that Mels girl, you know, the trouble maker. There was a gang fight, somehow the two of you got in the middle of it. Cora, What were you thinking?!"

"I honestly don't know," I said, shaking my head. "I don't remember."

"Shock, I guess. The Doctor's said you'd be fine though. You're lucky you weren't hurt worse."

Yyeah…." I said, still not convinced with the whole situation. I begged off, citing the need for more rest and she left with another bone-crushing hug and a kiss.

I studied the hospital room, as if it might answer my question. But the real question came when I looked down at my hands and saw blood on my hands. Not my own, from the sudden heart-attack my memory experienced.

"Sorry about that," his voice coincided with the door opening and my eyes widened. "I meant to get all my blood off before you woke up, but it's a little tricky navigating a human hospital you know."

"You were bleeding?"

"Your friend still had one more bullet left after she felled you."

He pulled back his suit coat to reveal a bullet hole in his side, it was blood stained, but none of it seemed to be fresh.

"I put a band-aid on and it was good as new." He laughed easily.

I reached out and he obliged by stepping closer. I touch a hand to his impassive face. Cold skin over misshapen bones, it yielded no more secrets upon touch than it did to look at. How was he alive? And what was he doing here? Could I really trust him? His mind was as alien to me as his appearance.

"You saved me," I said at long last, letting my hand drop. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you saved me. Twice now."

"I've killed dozens of your kind."

"And, I, hundreds of yours."

I shuddered; I couldn't help it. Once, it would have been impossible to reconcile such a statement with my friend. But then Father happened.

He turned, perhaps in shame, maybe regret. I don't know.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to frighten you."

"No. I get it."

"I'll wash off the blood and I promise you won't have to remember anymore."

I studied the blood stains, recalling similar ones on my knee years before. Sometimes I missed the girl I was then. But did I really want to forget everything, including my friend?

"Cora?" he said, hesitantly. "Are you all right?"

"Mum says I'm in shock," I teased, trying to hide my morose feeling. "I'll be fine."

"Good."

Unironically, silence sat easily between us. He watched me with those strange, small eyes. And I watched him with undisguised curiosity. How could such a puzzle exist? And how could we, a doomed friendship, ever hope to have some semblance of normality. Coralie, a normal human girl and her silent who didn't even have a name. Or did he?

"Do you have a name?"

"No."

"May I give you one?"

He laughed again. "I would be frightened to know what it would be."

I reached out for his hand and he gave it, if a little reluctantly. I had no blood to help him remember, but I suppose he wouldn't need it, so instead I wrote with careful fingers, F-R-I-E-N-D into the skin of his arm. He watched my hand move, but he grunted in confusion.

"What?"

"Nevermind." I said simply. "I need rest now."

He touched my cheek with his hand. I held perfectly still, allowing the rough uneven fingers to rest on my own human skin.

"You're right, little one. Get some rest. Tomorrow, you won't remember a thing."

"I wish I could."

"No, it's safer this way."

"Safer?"

"Nevermind," he parroted. "Just stay away from Melody. She's dangerous."

"Is that why all of you were there, for Mels?"

"Yes. Promise you'll stay away?"

I narrowed my eyes, weighing my options. One friend vs a psychopath who shot me. The choice was not so hard.

"I promise."

"Good girl."

He left then and as promised I didn't remember a thing in the morning. Mels and I never spoke again.

* * *

**A/N **There's not much to say I suppose. The classic, please leave review ploy. A disclaimer since I forgot it last time. I really don't own Doctor who. Surprise! And next up: another encounter resulting in death, a fight, and rent.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Last Message:**

**Chapter Three**

_The clock on the wall is deafening in the empty room. It's just me and the mirror and the seconds that tick by. Everything else has faded into oblivion. I honestly can't remember if there's a bridesmaid with me or not. And who is walking me down the aisle? In my fragile state, all the details I stressed so carefully over are forgotten. _

_ I keep looking back and forth, from the ring to my arm and back again. You would think, of all the details a bride keeps track of she would remember who she is marrying. But the longer I stand there, the less sure I am. Who am I marrying?_

* * *

After the incident with the pack, I saw my friend maybe 5 or 6 times over the next couple of years. He showed up once when he knew there was going to be another raid for Mels (unsuccessful). Or another time he came on Christmas day while Mother had to go into work. It became a tradition of sorts to visit on my birthday as well. The first couple of times it was awkward and strange. I couldn't quite get used to his tall form sitting ram-rod straight at our kitchen table. But as time passed, it grew easier.

Following every visit, I picked up some new post hypnotic suggestion. Wearing my hair in braids because he commented it looked nice, doing dishes with Mother because he thought it would improve our relationship. I never noticed the changes or wondered where they came from, until his next visit where I promptly scolded him for influencing my decisions. He laughed and said he couldn't help it; it was a natural facet of his species.

In the moments when I could remember, he was my best friend. In the long days of real life, I was lonely for something I didn't know was missing. It was a strange way to live, bouncing between two worlds of consciousness.

This was the pattern of my life for several years, but the day of my seventeenth birthday changed the status quo of my existence forever. Most notably, that was the day Mother died.

It started out as a beautiful summer day. Mother baked my cake and I lay on my bed, my silent sitting on the floor.

"So let me get this straight," I said, "You're hunting a girl so she can kill a man, so he doesn't open a crack in the universe, so the world doesn't end?"

He laughed and nodded, "Ridiculous as it sounds, it's the truth."

"I don't even believe in aliens."

"What does that make me then?"

I smiled fondly and patted the top of his skull. "You're as human as me. Just a little different. Special."

"Cora, I don't even look human."

"Well, you've got eyes and hands and walk upright. You've got as much of a nose as Voldemort, so that's human enough for me. Mouths are overrated anyway."

"I have a mouth. All silents do."

I paused, my face falling as I remembered my father. "Yes, I've seen them."

"Sorry. I forgot you wouldn't have seen them in pleasant situations."

"No."

There was a noise in the kitchen and I was grateful for the distraction. There was an unspoken rule in our friendship never to speak of the dead, especially the dead either of us had caused. Hunting your best friend's species isn't really a lively topic of conversation.

"Mum?" I called. "You okay?"

There was no answer, but the noise didn't stop. Pots clattered and all at once I heard a scream.

"Mum!"

I was off the bed and down the hall, before I had even really processed anything. It could have been something as simple as a small kitchen fire, but I didn't take chances with the one parent I had left. I reached the kitchen in time to see the lights flickering and three menacing fingers towering over Mother, who held only a paring knife for defense.

"Mum, NO!"

The gun was downstairs and the silents were between me and the good kitchen knives, but it didn't matter. I couldn't stand by and watch another parent die. I was at her side in the time it took to blink, pulling her backwards, praying they didn't have enough electricity yet. We were almost to the hallway, when the first flash caught her square in the chest. The current passed through us both and I caught my breath in a half gasp, half shout. Being shot was sharp, but being electrified to the point of incineration was fire, a thousand pricks of heat at every point of my body. I closed my eyes, expecting the relief of death any moment.

All at once, it ended and I was pulled roughly away from Mother. Intensely strong and utterly inhuman, his arms caught my waist and dragged me from danger. I screamed and fought against his hold, reaching for Mother. I watched her body's destruction through wild eyes even as he broke into a run. This was not the comforting death of my father, with a last look, a last smile. This was cold torture, burning like liquid nitrogen through my body.

My silent kept running for miles and eventually I gave up fighting. When he finally set me down, the running only continued. My wrist was captive to his hand and we ran together through the property, past the maple grove, past the creek where we met, past field after field after field. The landscape grew unfamiliar and after several miles, my body couldn't keep up. I stopped outright, throwing my weight against his.

"I can't" I gasped through uneven breaths. "I can't keep going."

At last his hold was released and I collapsed to the ground. Only then did the tears finally catch up with me. I let them fall, forced them angrily from me, purging every feeling from me. Words eventually came. Furious, hateful words. I purged them too.

"How could you?!" I accused, turning the hate on my silent. "You just left her! My Mum! You left her! You let her DIE!"

"Cora, I didn't—I'm sorry. I—"

"You what?! What could you possibly to say to make things better?" I longed to turn from him, to drown in the drowsy existence of the real world, but I knew with that hazy forgetfulness I'd lose the last memory of my mother too. I'd never know what happened to her. I wouldn't even have a body…

"There was nothing I could do."

"You could have saved her!" A sob caught in my throat and my heart collapsed. "_I_ could have saved her."

"That's not possible. Even if you had killed those three, there would have been more. They're looking for something."

"Well in case it's news for you, I'm not hiding Mels in my basement. I haven't spoken to her since someone messed with my life and manipulated me without my knowledge"

"You weren't even friends with her to begin with."

"I could have been! I guess we won't know now, will we. Thanks to you."

"What's the matter with you? I saved your life."

"What's the matter with me?" I stood abruptly, hands clenching. "What's the matter with you?! My mum just _died_. Doesn't that even register with you? You're such a machine. Don't you even feel? You can't cry, you can't frown, you can't even smile! I mean, don't you care about anything? What kind of creature doesn't have a heart?!"

He took a step back as if he had been slapped, and I immediately regretted my words. Only hours before I had insisted on his humanity. I crumbled to my knees again, my anger finally released. Now the numbness, the hurt, the regret set in, incapacitating me in a way the hatred couldn't. I hid my head between my knees, wrapping my arms tight around myself. Somewhere between the shoulder-wracking sobs, I felt another pair of arms surround my body, cocooning me in warmth.

He held me, rocked me through my grief, and stroked my hair as if all these human gestures came naturally. In reality, I knew he must have felt so unsure, so fearful of my shattered self. I loved him for that.

"I'm sorry, Cora." He whispered into my ear. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

Over and over again, his words became a mantra, a lullaby meant for my fractured heart. I let them catch me up, cradle me. He pled for forgiveness, but I knew that really the burden should have fallen to me. And it would, I knew. I would have to face my mistakes, beg for his forgiveness in return. But not then. Then, all I needed was sleep. Sleep, and blessed ignorance.

* * *

I woke up all alone in my room. I was muddled and confused. My soul felt like broken china and my body was stiff and sore. I tested each muscle, grimacing with pain. What happened? Why did everything _hurt_? I pulled into fetal position. The stiffness was manageable but my heart groaned with a very physical, very real weight. Something was missing.

I forced myself from the bed and walked the length of my room, trying to dispel the feeling. Something caught my attention. There was a note on my desk….. I opened it, shocked to see the words writing in ink that could only have been blood.

_Cora,_

_I'm sorry, for everything. You are right, I cannot smile or cry or really show any emotion at all. But I do have a heart. I do care. I care about you. Try not to get into trouble. Please be careful. I'll be back soon._

_P.S. There's money on the counter. You need to pay the rent._

The memories, loaded with all the pain and harrowing grief, were not unfamiliar to me. I must have known everything somewhere inside me. My body couldn't forget the worst day of my life so easily. And yet, through the pain, there was something else to, a kind of warmth and companionship towards my best friend in the whole world. I had been wrong, so wrong, to say all those things. I smoothed the paper gently, wondering how soon, soon was.

I was reluctant to let go of the note, knowing I would forget as soon as I did. But there was work to be done. I would have to support myself now, take over all the many things Mother had done for me. Still, I looked at the note with a smile; thanks to my silent, I knew at least one thing would definitely get done.

* * *

**A/N** Well there it is folks; I've definitely crossed into the realms of parent-cide now. I hear that get critiqued so much now a days as a plot device, I just find it funny. Really? We have to be picky because there's _another _story without parents? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Reviews are welcome and loved. As expected, I don't own Doctor Who. Also, can I just say, probably the trickiest thing about writing this is the Silence. I mean do you refer to them as silents or silence or Silence? So, I apologize for any inconsistencies of that kind in the writing. I haven't started the next chapter yet so I'm not sure what's up next... probably another note, a glance at why the silence came to her home, and possibly some insight into her wedding beyond the stuff at the top. Guess we'll see.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Last Message:**

**Chapter Four**

_** "**__Are you almost ready, dear? What do you need?"_

_ So there is someone in the room with me after all. My future mother-in-law, my subconscious reminds. My waking mind is too distracted to operate. Her image reflected in the mirror is hazy, while the images of my thoughts are clear. This is the world I live in, but I do not think it's the world I chose. If you live in a world that someone else gave to you, then what do you live in? Maybe that's why I feel like much of my life is only a lie._

* * *

"I think there's something you should know," My silent said about six months after Mother's death. He usually dropped in once a month, sometimes more, to bring money for the mortgage, groceries and anything else I might need. I had offered to get a job and support myself, but he insisted I needed to be going to school, living a normal life. And of course when he suggested, I obeyed without much thought.

"What's that?"

He paused, turning away from me so I could not see his face. The more time we spent together, the more I saw these human gestures immerge. Turning in shame, pacing when anxious, idly touching my hand or face in passing, things that seem so simple, but which you would never see in another Silent.

I didn't press when no answer came. Words and expression didn't always come easily for him. I learned to appreciate silence.

I continued about the kitchen, sweeping the floor, checking my frozen pizza in the oven. When I felt his hand catch my arm, I stopped, throwing him a questioning look. His eyes still avoided mine as he traced patterns against my skin. I remembered the day in the hospital, thirteen years old, writing the word friend on his arm, his name.

The letters were difficult to interpret, but I concentrated on one stroke at a time, mentally drawing the letters in my head as he went. M-Y-F-A-U-L-T. His fault? I frowned, confused. I must have read it wrong. He repeated the pattern a few more times, still never meeting my eyes. At last, I was forced to conclude I had gotten the message. I stopped his hand, holding it gently in my own.

"What's your fault?"

He shook his head. "How do you cry, Cora? I would like to try please."

"I don't know…. It's just something that happens. Same way you can make people forget. It's just natural."

"You were right, you know. I am a machine."

His hand dropped from mine and turned away again. This time I followed, touching his arm gently.

"That's not true. You're the kindest person I know."

"I am not kind," his voice grew even deeper and harsh than usual, if that can be imagined. He was angry. With me? Or with himself? "If you knew, you would not call me kind."

"You saved my life, you provide everything I need," I smiled warmly, even if he would not turn to see it. "And you're my best friend."

He sighed. When at last he spoke, it was strained as if he had to force the words from his throat. "You don't understand. It's my fault."

"So you've said, but what is your fault?"

"It's my fault she died."

Screaming, fire, pain, shattered. A thousand images, thoughts and feelings, all painful to the brim. Six months was not enough time to heal. I withdrew my hand, my heart smarting. He was still talking, but I was not hearing. I deliberately looked away, welcoming the sudden rush of confusion.

Sweeping. That's right, I was sweeping the kitchen. I had a fleeting thought of Mother, a false idea that she had died. But that wasn't the case. She had disappeared, left me all alone. Maybe it was only a business trip; after all, I always had money to pay the bills. Maybe she'd be back tomorrow.

A hand on my shoulder, and the moment of blissful unawareness was gone. Tears slipped down my cheeks, leaving salty scars. It was as if Mother was dying again, every detail fresh as the day it happened. Our rule of avoiding death was broken, and I felt terribly betrayed by my friend.

"I didn't know they were following me," he whispered. "I wouldn't have come if I knew."

"I thought they were looking for Mels," I croaked. "I thought—"

"I know, Cora. I'm sorry. I should have told you."

I couldn't bring myself to reply. What could I possibly say? That I forgave him, I knew without question. But that I was hurt, destroyed, deceived, I couldn't reconcile. I thought I knew him, from the obvious alien exterior to the strangely human interior. This, this rocked me emotionally, knocked the breath from my lungs. Where did I go from there?

"I think I need a minute," I finally said.

"I should go."

"But then I'll forget. I just…. I just need to process."

"I'm sorry."

The new silence was not welcome. It tortured my soul, taunted my previous happiness. The sound was merciless against me, but I couldn't send it away. The rest of the evening, while I ate, washed the dishes, finished my homework, the silence remained my constant companion. I tried to ignore it, or fill it with needless chatter. My friend replied as often as I spoke. We talked of weather and school, of anything that didn't hold any real weight. But despite this, there was a silence of heart that killed even the lightest of conversation. There was an emptiness no words could conquer.

It was nearly midnight when I finally sent him away. He asked to leave a note and I agreed, if a little reluctantly. If the pain of remembering became too great, I could always hide the note away.

_Cora,_

_ I should have been more careful. I understand if you send me away for good. Our friendship was always improbable at best, now I see it was impossible from the start. Humans are made to love, but Silents…. I think Silents are only broken humans. An imitation run on isolation and human fear. I will not ask for forgiveness I do not deserve. Yet I will hope._

For three days straight, I kept the letter within arm's reach at all times. The emptiness of my soul was hard to fight, but it was easier to do so without an empty mind as well. Day after day, I thought about what he said and about how I felt. How could forgiveness come so quickly and yet the hurt still lingered? I didn't have an answer then; I suspect I may never know. On the third day, I made a choice. The emptiness left, filled instead with my new found determination. I looked with anxious eyes to the future, awaiting the return of my friend.

* * *

Nearly a month later, I still hadn't heard anything from him. I was worried, yes. But I knew he would return on his own time. In the meantime, I found myself in and out of clarity, sometimes remembering, most of the time not. I left the note on my bed where I could see it every morning when I first awoke and every night when I went to sleep. During the hours in between, life continued. I waited for the day Mother would return, I did my schoolwork (sometimes), I went to movies with my friends, and I met Jordan Faust.

He was clever and sensitive and when he smiled, I swear the sun was jealous. He was my first real crush. Or so I thought. But when I went to bed at night and saw that note sitting on my pillow, somehow I wasn't so sure.

Still when I was with him, and my silent was far from my mind, he held my heart in his hands. I hung on his every word, laughing and giggling, acting more like a teenage girl than I ever had before. When he asked me to the school dance, I said yes without hesitation. Nevermind, I had no money for a dress or any idea where to get one. I was going with Jordan, and that was the important thing.

Somehow, there was money. It was sometime later I realized my silent must have known. At the time, I wrote it off as Mother getting paid bonus for her extended trip. With the help of a few girlfriends I managed to find a dress and I was left counting down the days to the dance.

How could I know that at the same time, I was counting down to my friend's return?

* * *

I put the last lock of hair in place, twisting silver pins through the mess of curls and hairspray. I slipped into the dress, twisting at impossible angles in an attempt to zip it up. The layers of blue tulle followed my movements, kissing the floor in quiet swishes. I looked down watching it paint lazy circles round my feet. I knew it was beautiful; I was beautiful.

The T.V. played mindlessly in the background and I watched with no interest whatsoever as I searched from my heels. When I retrieved them, I sat on the couch to put them on.

I remember perfectly the moment when the broadcast was interrupted._ Breaking News!_ I glanced up, curious what could be so important. My heart dropped when I saw a pack of silents under heavy gunfire.

Silents were rarely shown on the news and of course no one ever remembered it anyway. I could only remember it happening once or twice before in my lifetime. I watched the action, utterly torn. The brainwashed human inside me leapt with terror, begged me to find a gun, to take action. But my innermost soul searched with anxious eyes for a familiar face amongst so many that looked the same. There wasn't a physical difference to mark him from any others. But I would know. The minute my eyes found his, I would recognize him by the humanity of his Silent heart.

Because I lived so far from town, I was supposed to drive myself part way, where Jordan would pick me up at the home of a mutual friend. I never made it out of the living room. I remained riveted to the screen as long as they showed any sign of the Silents. The newscaster questioned what such a large group was doing, where they came from, if the citizens would win. I ignored his words. None of that mattered, when I faced the possibility of losing the last person on this Earth I loved. Eventually the shooting slowed, the humans emerged victorious. The previous programming returned and so did 'reality'.

I glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing I was nearly an hour late. I jumped from the couch, scouring the room for my keys. How did I lose track of time?! I felt only moments had passed since I paused to put on my shoes. And what could I possibly tell Jordan? I added cell phone to my mental list of things to search for. I had to call him, explain….. well, explain something. Apologize my guts out and hope he'd still give me the chance. I was rummaging through the kitchen drawers when the front door opened.

"Jordan, I am so sorry," I began, thinking he must have driven all the way out when he realized I wasn't coming.

To both my shock and relief, it was not Jordan who stood in the doorway.

"Have you got a Band-Aid, little one?"

I don't think he was expecting such an armful of dress, hair and human when I rushed towards him. But soon I was caught up in his arms as much as he was in mine. I stood on tip toe, clinging to his slim body. I cried freely, breathing only for the relief of the real, living feel of him. He was injured perhaps, evidenced by his weakened hold around me, and the hot blood staining the front of my dress. But he was alive. He was safe. I'd learned Silents healed naturally fast, and he'd been fine in an hour or two.

"You came back," I said, through a mouthful of tears. "I thought you weren't coming back."

"I'll always come back," he laughed and both our bodies shook with the sound. "Oh, Cora. I was worried about you."

"Worried about me?" I finally pulled away, regarding him with watery, yet smiling eyes. "I was worried for _you_. I saw the pack, all the killing. I was worried the humans had gotten you."

"My silly, little human. The pack was there to kill me. Apparently, I'm an abomination to my kind. Your humans saved me without even meaning to."

I laughed, wiping away tears, snot and mascara alike and making a mess of my face in the process. Bless those sweet, ignorant humans who saved my friend, my _love_. I'm not sure how the transition came about in my mind, but 11 years of friendship and protection and shared grief had changed something in me. I took his arm, writing a new word, a new name into his skin. L-O-V-E.

He watched intensely as I wrote. I blushed to realize my hands had picked up some of his blood. The words were not as silent as I thought. He looked into my face, and for the first time, I could truly see the smile behind them. My silent, my strong, kind silent was smiling for me. I touched his face, marveling how something once so strange and foreign could become so beautiful, so familiar to me. Maybe I had loved him, in my own limited way, all along.

His eyes dimmed and for a minute I was scared he would change his mind.

"What about your mum?"

I shook my head. I had made that decision. I knew my own heart.

"I forgive you. I think I forgave you the moment you told me. I just didn't realize it at first."

"Do you really mean it?" His gaze held mine intently, the smile resurfacing.

"I do. I mean every word."

I touched his arm significantly. I was not expecting his fingers on my arm, the slide of still warm blood drawing happiness in the form of letters. But my heart nearly burst when his hand lifted and I could see the very word I had written reflected now on my own skin.

"Do you really mean it?"

He nodded. Then he made a curious gesture, touching his left cheek and then his right.

"What are you doing?" I laughed again without real cause. It was laugh or face certain implosion from joy.

"I'm smiling," he explained, ducking his head shyly. "If you and I are to be…..friends….I should learn to smile."

"I think it's a little late for friends, don't you?"

He smiled again and then his arms lifted me, spinning me in a wide circle. I don't know where a silent learns to be romantic or how to hold a girl, but he held me as no one else ever had. I relaxed into his chest, hiding in his arms. I listened to his heart racing in time with mine and I closed my eyes. Here was home, here was love.

* * *

**A/N **So, pretty appropriate for Valentine's Day, I think. I hope you liked it, and I hope your Valentine's Day has been good. I think it's a beautiful day to appreciate the relationships around us. Whether those are romantic, platonic, familial, or any number of other kinds, we all have someone to love and to be loved by. Depending on a couple of variables, there will be anywhere from 1-3 more chapters. You can expect to see them periodically over the next few days. Leave a review, and thanks for reading!

Oh and my best guess for what's coming up: More Jordan, more love, and probably _no_ wedding yet. Though that will make an appearance sooner or later.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Last Message:**

**Chapter Five**

_The world around me is growing clearer. My bridesmaids are lining up to go, my future mother-in-law continues her nervous hovering, and I'm expected to go any moment now. One hand is already gloved. As for the other….. I can't bring myself to cover the words. If I choose this now, I lose him forever. And if I don't, I lose the only stable thing in my life. _

_I love one every day without stopping to think about it. He comes easy to me. I love the other on those in-between days, when life is complex and enigmatic. He's a love I have to fight for. But which do I love more? Can love actually be measured? If love is measured in time, the choice is simple. Or what if love is measured instead by significant moments in our life….._

* * *

About the time his arms grew heavy around me, I remembered he was hurt. I pulled away, noting the way his long body sagged with exhaustion or how even the new smile gesture he presented me seemed half-hearted. It seemed we could not exist together without one or the other being in danger of some sort.

"How badly are you hurt?" I asked, tugging at the arm of his suit coat.

He shook his head, but he slipped out of the coat without argument. "Not very. It was only one stray shot."

I hmmmed quietly to myself, trying to shift the white shirt and see the wound without causing further damage. It was a pretty unsuccessful venture until he just stripped the shirt off as well. Were he human, I might have blushed, but I found his body was much like his face and hands, skin pulled tight over unshapely bones. I was more fascinated than embarrassed. The blood was slowing, but the bullet was still imbedded. My eyes traveled across his chest and stomach, frightened by the dozens of similar scars, layered on his skin. Soon my fingers followed the same path, lingering on the longest scars, laid like seams across his body.

His hand caught mine, squeezing it with warm reassurance.

"Don't worry about me, Cora. As soon as the bullet's out, I'll be good as new. They heal quickly."

"How many years of being hunted? How many bullets?"

"It doesn't matter. Right now it's only one bullet."

My mind was drawn to that first meeting, when he was so riddled with injuries, so frail. He almost died then, I was sure of it. He was not invulnerable; I had killed enough silents to know. But I had never healed one. I had to trust he knew what was best.

"What can I do?"

He made the smile gesture and it was reflected in his eyes as well.

"I'll be all right, really. I should be able to get the bullet out on my own. I'll call if I need you."

He touched my face and then slipped from the room. I heard him rummaging around in one of the backrooms, probably looking for tweezers of some kind.

I looked down at my dress, stained through. So much for that dance. With a sigh, I looked around for my phone, intending to finally call Jordan. Despite my feelings for my silent, I couldn't forget the ease with which I found myself drawn to the sweet, human boy. He deserved an explanation of some kind even if I had to lie.

I, at last retrieved the phone, glancing through the dozens of missed calls and text messages. What was I supposed to say to him?

My finger lingered over the dial, when my front door opened for the second time that night.

Jordan took one look at me and was at my side in an instant, touching my face, searching my eyes for an explanation, exclaiming with worry. I smiled at his concern, but I still struggled to find the words to put him at ease.

"Don't worry," I said, taking his hand in mine. I tried not to compare how a human hand felt in contrast to my silent's.

"Don't worry? Cora, you're covered in blood!" He gestured at my ruined dress and I ducked my head. I yearned to assure him I had been beautiful an hour ago. Jordan made me nervous in a way I didn't experience with anyone else. All of my natural confidence and grace disappeared when I was around him. I became instead, some puppy-like version of myself, anxious for approval, eager to please.

"No, its not mine."

"If not yours, whose is it?"

"It's mine."

The space between our bodies dropped rapidly in temperature and Jordan's frame stood frozen next to mine. My silent left the shadowed hallway, a bloody towel still caught in his hands. I was pleased to see his wound was already beginning to heal.

"Cora," Jordan hissed under his breath. "My keys are still in the ignition. You need to take the car and run. I'll try to hold him off."

"No, Jordan, it's not like that." I took his arm, scared of the tension building in his body.

"I mean it. You have to go. I'll use a knife, a vase, anything. But I won't let him hurt you."

"I would never hurt her." My silent stepped closer, but Jordan only pushed me backwards. I still held tightly to him, trying to pull him around to face me.

"You'll kill her the first chance you get. Same as I'll do to you."

"If I wanted either of you dead, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

No matter how much pushing or pulling, Jordan would not be swayed. I took a different approach instead, tearing from his protective stance. He cried out and reached for me, but I was already caught up by my silent, cradled into his uninjured side.

"Let her go!"

"Jordan, please. It's okay." I locked eyes with him, begging him to understand. "He's my friend."

"Your friend?! That thing is a monster."

"No, he's not like the others. I promise you."

I looked up into the face of my love, touching his cold distorted skin. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jordan transfixed, stunned with horror.

"What has he done to you?"

"He saved my life; you don't understand."

"No, I really don't understand," his voice rang with disgust and I could only shrink further into the safety of my silent's body. "They hunt and kill for pleasure. They're demonic. And you….. you're a traitor to your own kind."

I shook my head, fighting tears. It was no use. Jordan would not change his mind. Not even for me. He seemed to sense the same of me because he stopped speaking then. He threw me one last scathing look before turning his back. He slammed the door on his way out.

"He'll be back," my silent said. "And as soon as he sees my blood on you he'll remember."

"What can I do?" My voice sounded weak even to my own ears.

"I'll see what I can do."

He proceeded to rip layers of fabric from my dress, doing his best to eradicate any evidence of the bloodstains. The floating majesty transformed into an edgy modern style under his care and I was surprised he could accomplish such a thing. He tied a makeshift sash around my waist to hide the last of the blood and I was almost as good as new. But his hand on my shoulder, his message still scrawled on the skin of my arm… I didn't want to leave.

"Maybe, I should just stay home. We're probably too late for dinner now anyway and I'd rather be with you."

"You shouldn't have waited here for me. You should be off with humans like you, having fun, finding love."

"I did find love."

"Cora….." Not even ten minutes before, he was jubilant, happy and I was in love. But his demeanor had taken a drastic turn and all joy was stillborn. He was leaving again.

"Don't," I whispered, fearful of the person I was when he was gone. Empty. Meaningless. Without life. I didn't want that life. I didn't ever want him to leave again. "Don't do this to me."

"I'll be back. Someone's got to make sure you have money for rent, after all."

"No. Please no."

"I can't stay here and watch you put a hold on your life for me. I won't make you choose between reality and fiction."

"But this is my reality. _You _are more real to me than anything else. Please, I've only just found you again."

"This is not real. You will forget the minute you turn around." He paused, using the rag in his hands to wipe the remaining blood from me. It was nearly dry now, but the cloth was damp, raising little Goosebumps down my arm. I twisted away, trying to preserve the words. His grasp was strong though, and soon all evidence of his existence had been destroyed. I cried and begged him to stay. He stubbornly refused.

"I love you," I murmured, the last argument I had, the only thing I thought could change his mind.

His body was stiff, rigid with pain despite the bullet wound being completely healed at this point. Even aliens feel emotion in a physical way at times.

"A human can't love a Silent," he replied, his voice low and barely audible. "She belongs with her kind."

"I don't want it."

"Cora." He touched my cheek one last time and the feeling shot straight through to my heart. "He loves you and you need him. Let him take care of you."

His hand withdrew and I watched his form retreat further into the house. I would have pursued, _should _have pursued, but the door opened behind me. I turned to see Jordan, and all memory fled. I wiped away inexplicable tears and smiled with renewed excitement. Jordan. Sweet Jordan. There he was, worried and caring. Though I gave some thought up excuse, I was content to let him take care of me, coddle me. After all, isn't that what a girl was supposed to do?

* * *

**A/N **I hope this chapter is up to par, but I honestly I kind of struggled writing it. The words were not coming easily and it all just felt very disjointed to me. Still, I hope it wasn't completely awful to read. Also, sorry this one took more days than usual to update. But I do still plan to finish by the end of February so the next couple (possibly just one) will come in quick succession. I may come back and rework this chapter if I continue to feel disgusted by it. We'll see though.

Coming up next: An engagement, a choice (or not a choice), and a kiss.


	6. Chapter 6

** The Last Message:**

**Chapter Five**

_He was there every time I needed him. First as a stranger, then a friend, and then for one brief moment, a lover. But always, unfailingly as a protector. Surely, there couldn't be a stronger love than one that lasts a lifetime. _

_When I think of the other, so new, so comfortable, I feel torn. There, too, is friendship and love. _

_But it's different,_

_Alien._

* * *

I wish I could say he came back the week after the dance or even the month following. But it was years before our paths crossed again. As always, money showed up on the counter in the months leading up to my graduation. Though I had cause to question how it got there and why Mother never came home, I never found answers. In time, I stopped looking.

As time marched forward, I got a job, Jordan and I started dating, and slowly I let my silent fade from my life. I had taken to leaving his notes around my home, a constant reminder of his existence. When it became clear he would not return, I forced myself to gather them up. I moved them back into my room, to my bed, under the pillow, and then finally, a box beneath my bed where I had no cause to remember.

Perhaps he would have been erased forever at that point, but fate had other plans.

I was 21 when Jordan and I began talking seriously about marriage. We had been together several years and it was the next logical step in our relationship. There were all sorts of details to figure out; things I had never considered important suddenly became life or death decisions on a daily basis. Would we live in his apartment in town or my childhood home? Dog or no Dog? Should we elope or plan a large scale, black tie event? I was frazzled perhaps, but in love. Even disagreements glistened in a rosy light and I couldn't be happier.

It was late one night, as I pored over wedding announcements and printing options with my soon-to-be husband in my room. The wind had been particularly brutal to the house that night, beating it into tears. The rain was only marginally more forgiving. I suppose, on such a blustery night, that the crack of thunder should not have startled me so. But to my tired, stress-afflicted self, it caught me unprepared. I jumped where I sat, sending the piles of paper tumbling from my lap.

"Little jumpy, hon?" Jordan teased.

I might have glared, but he was already on his knees, gathering announcements.

"Make sure you get the ones under the bed too."

He peeked under, making a face.

"You realize there's only two that fell under here?"

"You never know, maybe one of those is the perfect one."

"I bet you'll find one you like even better in the other 600."

"Please?"

He smiled easily, giving in quickly as I knew he would. His head disappeared briefly beneath the bed skirt before it popped back up, with announcements in hand. Only, I was not anticipating a wooden box to resurface with him.

"What's this?" he asked, shaking it gently like it was a Christmas present.

I took it from him, cradling it with hesitant hands. "I'm not actually sure."

"Isn't it yours?"

"The box, yes." Whatever it held… I couldn't say.

"Shall we have a look?"

Some inner part of me must have known exactly what was in that box. Jordan reached for it, but I clutched it tightly to my chest. He couldn't see inside. He couldn't know…. _Know what? _I asked myself. What could be so bad about a child's box under the bed?

For whatever reason, I would not be swayed. Jordan gave me a strange look, but he let it go. We returned to the decisions at hand and solved the latest crisis on the way to our marriage.

But later, when the thunder stilled at last and the rain was little more than a whisper on the window, I slipped from the bed, my precious box in hand.

It was perhaps three in the morning by that point, but my mind was anywhere but the shores of sleep. I pulled on a coat and boots and left the house at a brisk walk.

How could I know my feet would lead me to the creek where we met so many years before? How could I know all the hesitation and fear I had about an upcoming marriage were more concerned with a little wooden box than with the actual wedding? These things slipped elusively at the edge of my conscience, nothing more than the barest hint of instinct guiding my thoughts and actions.

Regardless, I did indeed end up at the creek, clutching the box, fighting inexplicable tears, and swallowed by doubts one hundred fold. The wise thing would have been to throw the box away and with it all my fears.

But I was not wise. I was in love. Just not with Jordan.

I stared, heart-stricken, at the dozens of letters begging to be remembered. Words of comfort, laughter, sadness, all penned in blood, all received with love.

I fell to my knees, tears pouring fast and uncontrollable. My love, my silent, my best friend in the world, he was gone. But all the feelings remained stronger than ever, wrenching my heart.

Loving Jordan was calm like the spring sun, but loving Him was something so deep and instinctual it consumed every thought and feeling. It was blood and tears and losing loved ones and growing together. It was strange, unnatural chemistry, curiosity and awe. It was real.

I longed for his presence, imagined his arms wrapping around me, cradling my damaged heart in his hands. Instead the wind enveloped me and light rain kissed my cheeks. At last, I was forced to face the truth. He wasn't coming back.

My silent would never return home.

* * *

I refused to go out the night before my wedding. I didn't have many friends to go with anyway, and the ever-constant pain in my heart seemed worse than usual. I sat in my jim-jams, a little wooden box held in gentle hands. I couldn't remember the contents, but I had learned the lesson well enough to never open the box again. It was enough to simply hold it and wonder at the sadness I felt.

He was there with me that night, watching from the shadows. I never saw him; he made sure of that. But I felt his presence, a second sadness weighing heavily upon me. And when I cried that night, I'm sure he unsuccessfully begged his own body to cry. And when I fell asleep, curled into my shattered self, strong arms carried me to bed.

He placed the box lovingly away, brushed the hair from my face, and gave to my sleeping form the closest thing to a kiss he could manage. I would only remember this as dreams, haunting my sleep. I would vaguely remember arms holding me close in the night and words whispered tenderly in the darkness. And in the morning, when I stepped into billowing white majesty, I would find on my arm, a last message written in the ink of a bleeding, broken heart.

_I love you_.

* * *

**A/N **I'm sorry for the delay. I quite honestly didn't really foresee that happening. There's just been a lot going on in my life and the desire to finish this story is completely gone. I sit down to write and I just feel disconnected from the story and from the readers. As a result, the quality probably isn't that great. So sorry about that. But there's on probably only one more chapter left so it doesn't really matter I guess.


End file.
